


Being Herself

by DreamingTheMelody



Category: Languages (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Rating for Language, dual nature, language fic, mentioned English language/Spanish language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 16:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12172416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingTheMelody/pseuds/DreamingTheMelody
Summary: She has a lot of her mother in her, that is true. She has her red hair, her pale skin, and her slight build, and for many of them, that is enough to think they can label her as such. She should make more of an effort to emulate her, they say, her mother says, they all say.But they forget that she's equal parts her father's daughter, as well: his blood in her veins, his soul-deep need to claim and own and change until its his, and a piercing, blue-eyed gaze that is the embodiment of English’s unceasing, unrelenting curiosity.





	Being Herself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meme_inspired](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meme_inspired/gifts).



> Whew, this has been an experience. 
> 
> Writing this work was a last-minute decision, and I never really knew anything about anthropomorphic canons until today, so I apologize if this is me stepping all over the established guidelines (I'm sure Spanglish and Franglais don't speak exactly this way, for example, but I'll call this artistic license). But I was looking through prompts for Fandom Giftbox today for shits and giggles, and your characterization of English, and curiosity of what that would mean for Spanglish and other language relationships just shot me in the brain. I had headcanons forming faster than I could write them down. 
> 
> I hate that this is so short, because there's honestly so much I'd love to expand upon (why I imagine Spanish with freckles, English's relationship with his kids and lovers, etc), but I wanted to make sure you got this gift in time. I really, really hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it; you had some great prompts that really inspired me! 
> 
> Obligatory: Any concrit is definitely welcome. I'm a fluent Spanish speaker, and I took French for a few years, but I definitely make mistakes. 
> 
> And I hope the format isn't too awful.

"No me hables esa mierda." [1]

Her mother turns away, fiery red hair flying up and then settling down around her frail shoulders as she does so. She picks up a pan, already scrubbed as clean as it could possibly be, and takes the soapy sponge to its surface with a new-found vigor. 

"But mamá," Spanglish implores, upset and confused. "I just wanted you to come see! Ven a ver, ven a ver! [2]  
Es excelent—" 

"Para," [3] her mother hisses, and though Spanish doesn't turn around, Spanglish can see her mother's face—scowling, freckled, and blotchy with color—reflected back at her in the kitchen window above the sink. "Te crié mejor que esto. Uno o el otro, no esta pinche mezcla de los dos." [4]

Either one or the other. One or the other. It's something that she's constantly hearing from everyone around her—trying to shuffle her off under one particular label, no matter that it will never fit her completely. 

Even what they call her isn't her real name. Spani, they address her as; Spanglish is too clunky, too ugly a name for her mother’s daughter. 

She has a lot of her mother in her, that is true. She has her red hair, her pale skin, and her slight build, and for many of them, that is enough to think they can label her as such. She should make more of an effort to emulate her, they say, her mother says, they all say. 

But they forget that she's equal parts her father's daughter, as well: his blood in her veins, his soul-deep need to claim and own and change until its his, and a piercing, blue-eyed gaze that is the embodiment of English’s unceasing, unrelenting curiosity. 

It’s deliberate forgetfulness, she knows. It can’t be easy for her mother, having a constant reminder of the man she loved, the man who used to love her, but has a thirst too great to be satiated when tied down. But deliberate or no, it’s an invalidation of Spanglish, and it hurts. Every time. 

"Perdon," [5] she says, gaze lowered, tone subdued, excitement gone. She turns away from her mother and slowly makes her way out of the small kitchen area. She didn’t know what she had expected, honestly, but she should know better by now. 

She feels a wave of self-loatheing sweep over her as she enters her bedroom, but she plasters a fake smile on her face all the same. There is a part of her that notices with a little bit of sadness how easy that Is for her to do nowadays, but for once, this is something she actually doesn’t mind doing. 

"Sorry, esta ocupada horita," [6] she says as she plops down in her computer chair. She glances at the screen quickly before turning her head slightly and giving the camera a big smile. "But it means I can talk to you for longer." 

"You know she wouldn’t have wanted to talk to me anyway," her brother answers, his cheeks dimpling and teeth shining as he grins at her through her screen. "Je N’est suis pas son fils. [7] She hates me." 

She can feel her forehead crease slightly, a bi-product of her attempt at translation. "I’m not," he starts again, before she cuts him off. 

"That doesn’t matter," she says. "Eres mi hermano." [8]

He smiles at her again, and though it is a little less radiant this time, it is no less genuine, she can tell that much. "I know it’s hard for you, being with her," He says. "But you won’t have to deal with that forever, I promise. Look at moi, j’ai le temps de ma vie. [9] Soon you’ll be out of there and no one will be telling you who to be." 

She gives him a rueful grin in turn, unsure, but a little bit hopeful at his words despite herself. She would be lying if she said the idea didn’t appeal to her. "Gracias, Franglais. I really hope you’re right." 

"Je suis," [10] he replies, nodding sagely at her. "Just be yourself for now. Your approval is the only one that matters." 

They continue talking for a while longer, occasional pauses in conversation when one of them say something the other needs to mentally translate. She thinks that she might be a little bit better at this than he is, but it’s probably because he’s a better teacher, if she’s being honest. 

She tells him what happened in the kitchen a few minutes ago, and he nods in understanding. He doesn’t say much then—just empathizes in the way that very few around her can. He lets her be herself, and that’s more than enough. 

It’s a short respite from the world around her, and she knows it will end all too soon. But she’s so grateful regardless, and she thinks that if this is what it is to have no constraints like her brother, than he’s probably right. 

It won’t be this way for too much longer.

**Author's Note:**

> 1"Don't talk that shit to me." [ return to text ]
> 
> 2"Come see, come see!" [ return to text ]
> 
> 3"Stop," [ return to text ]
> 
> 4"I raised you better than this. One or the other, not this fucking mishmash of the two." [ return to text ]
> 
> 5"Sorry," [ return to text ]
> 
> 6"she's busy right now." [ return to text ]
> 
> 7"I'm not her son." [ return to text ]
> 
> 8"You're my brother." [ return to text ]
> 
> 9"me, having the time of my life." [ return to text ]
> 
> 10"I am." [ return to text ]


End file.
